If Necessary Alone

by V M Knox

  ‘He is male, strong and more importantly, mobile. He was also in his lorry on Wednesday, the day Donald Crawford was murdered.’

  Sean’s head was nodding but he hadn’t spoken.

  ‘You appear not to be surprised, Sean. Any reason?’

  ‘I had a bit of an altercation with the man some time ago.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Sarah Crawford, as it happens.’

  ‘Really?

  Sean paused. ‘He accused me of having an affair-of-the-heart with Sarah.’

  ‘Was he right?’

  ‘Of course not. And despite what you say about Sarah and Tom Harris and whoever this other man may be, Sarah Crawford is a good, hard-working woman who has,’ Sean corrected himself, ‘had an abusive alcoholic husband.’

  Clement looked at the man. He considered Sean’s anger had more to do with the past. But whatever Sean may or may not have done in Ireland, it was not Clement’s current concern. At one time, Clement would have been shocked by his own complacency. The war had changed everything. He had said that before. But whatever reason had led Sean to leave Ireland, Clement believed the Lord had placed Sean Mead where the man was most needed. And right now, that was with him.

  Clement continued. ‘If Ian McAllister is the man I’m looking for, then I need more proof than him being in the right place at the right time on Wednesday. But we must be careful. And invisible. I don’t suppose you know about the man’s past?’

  ‘I’ve never asked. I prefer not to know too much about people. It makes leaving easier.’

  He met Sean’s gaze. The Vicar in him wanted to reach out to Sean and what troubled him, but it would have to wait.

  ‘What do you have in mind doing, Vicar?’

  ‘I want to see inside his lorry.’

  ‘Is there anything else you care to tell me about before I sign up?’

  Clement could feel his eyebrows rising. There was so much he had not confided to Sean.

  Sean interrupted Clement’s thoughts, no doubt seeing his hesitation. ‘It’s alright, Vicar. If it’s a fighter you want, or someone to watch your back with no questions asked, then I’m your man. I don’t need to know the whys and wherefores. Actually, I prefer not to know any more than I already do.’

  ‘Thank you, Sean.’

  ‘What’s the plan?’

  Clement thought for a moment. ‘Tom said they would leave in the small hours and I know from experience that Tom will not put to sea before the turn of the tide. On Wednesday night the outgoing tide commenced at two o’clock. Tom adds an hour to allow for the outgoing current to be swift and the tides shift here by about half an hour to forty minutes a day. That puts their departure around four o’clock in the morning. So why are they meeting the third person later tonight? To do what?’ Clement stared at Sean, hoping his question wasn’t rhetorical.

  Sean shrugged his shoulders.

  Clement wasn’t convinced that Sean was telling him all he knew. He thought of his old team in East Sussex. Men he could trust. He dwelt on Reg, who, although in Scotland, was miles away. Regardless, he was grateful for Sean’s assistance. But there would be no discussing thoughts or plans beyond what was necessary. As Johnny had told him, he was alone. Clement lowered his head, thinking. ‘Is there somewhere around here you can secrete the bus?’

  ‘Aye. There is a large disused barn on the old Mey road.’

  ‘How far from Gills Bay jetty?’

  ‘All being well, and with the wind at my back, around twenty minutes’ walk. Will they meet up in the kirk?’

  ‘I’m guessing it will be here, where Sarah and Tom can wait out of the weather. But regardless of the location, we must take them before they get onto Tom’s boat.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘We take them into Thurso Police in your bus.’ Clement thought for a minute. ‘Will the bus company wonder where you are, Sean?’

  Sean shook his head. ‘Bus schedules can’t be accurate in weather like this.’

  ‘And Jean?’

  ‘Same reason. Besides, we don’t have that sort of relationship. What do we do until then?’

  Clement checked his watch again, it was just after six. ‘While you secrete your bus, I want to see inside McAllister’s lorry. And Sean, please don’t be tempted to visit The Bell for any reason. No one can know you are in the vicinity. Jean’s safety and yours depend on it. I’ll meet you back here at seven o’clock. When you arrive, go straight into the kirk. On the left is a small door. It leads up to the belfry. Wait there by the land-side window. There is no glass in the window so you can hear anyone approaching, even if you cannot see them. And, by the way, it’s cold up there.’

  ‘And if you haven’t returned by seven?’

  ‘Then McAllister has killed me.’

  Clement stepped from the warm bus and the door closed. Jumping the adjacent stone wall, he waited until Sean started the engine and drove away, the vehicle heading west. With his ears straining, Clement stood and checked the road in both directions, as usual, nothing stirred. And no sound came to him on the wind. Crossing the road, he entered the churchyard. With the wind at his back, Clement hurried through the graveyard, the only sound that of his own footsteps on the gravel.

  It was colder now, or so he thought, but perhaps it was just his heightened nerves. He reached into his pocket for his balaclava and pulled it down hard on his head. Hunching his shoulders from the icy draughts, he picked his way through the head stones, the cold boring into his flesh. Shivering, he tried to remember when he was last warm. It had been on his first night in Canisbay; the night he and Aidan had sat in front of the fire at the manse. His eyes focused on the bulge in his left sock as he walked, at the double-edged blade strapped to his calf. Wearing it was second nature to him and he no longer felt it against his skin, but the arsenal of weaponry he wore about his body was a constant reminder of his current situation. Initially, he had thought he wouldn’t need his knife for this mission, much less his assassin’s Welrod pistol with four magazines of ammunition. But now, he knew a confrontation loomed. He felt the inevitability of it. It was just a matter of time. And when it did, it would be close and deadly.

  At the end of the walled graveyard, Clement paused. In the night air he could smell the smoke from Wallace’s farm, even if he couldn’t see it. Above him, thousands of distant stars gleamed between scudding clouds and a thin moon lay sideways as though lazing in a celestial hammock, oblivious to the turmoil below. Off to his left, Clement caught the sudden green glow of the Northern Lights flickering their disinterest over the world below them. For one moment, he stopped to enjoy it. The heavens were spectacular. But not everything in Caithness was so natural. Behind closed doors something sinister was happening around him. Unseen, yet all pervasive. Who knew? Was it a closely guarded secret, or a conspiracy? Standing, he held his gloved hands to his mouth and blew warm air through the woollen weave over his fingers. Running through the gate, and keeping close to the graveyard wall, he returned to the road, Huna about a mile away.

  Chapter 19

  Twelve minutes later Clement opened the door to the red telephone box and stepped inside, the shelter a welcome respite from the wind. Keeping the road in front and behind him in his peripheral vision, he studied Crawford’s wide shop window. His gaze shifted to McAllister’s garage door. Everything appeared to be closed up for the night and no lights were visible at either premise. Checking the road again, he left the telephone booth and ran across the road.

  Reaching for his torch, he examined the simple barrel lock on the doors to McAllister’s garage. He sprang the catch easily then switched off the torch and, pushing the door ajar, slipped inside. All was dark. A strong and enticing smell of baking chicken greeted his nostrils. Off to his left he could hear muted voices, a man and a woman. He slid the front doors to and crept towards a small door that separated him from the voices.

  ‘I can’t imagine why you did it. You take too many risks.’r />
  ‘And you worry too much, woman! Besides, he won’t be around much longer.’

  A door somewhere inside slammed closed. Clement waited but the conversation did not resume. He stared into the cold air. Were they talking about him? If McAllister knew Clement had returned to the area, then it had been McAllister in the Frews’ house. The conversation implied it. And Joyce was his accomplice. He visualised her strong wrists pouring tea in Sarah’s sitting room the day Crawford died. Those hands were certainly capable of wringing the necks of chickens. But Clement wanted tangible evidence. Something that was irrefutable.

  Lifting his gaze, he scanned the freezing dark garage. The lorry occupied the centre of the large, high-pitched roofed building. All around it were motor parts of one kind or another. Leaving the door to the residence, he skirted the vehicle, walking towards the rear of the garage. The inviting aroma of baking chicken was replaced by the smell of coal dust. He flicked on the torch. Behind the lorry, and off to one side, was a large pile of coal ready for bagging. He placed the edge of his overcoat over the latch and lifted the handle on the lorry’s rear door. A metallic click sounded brief and hard. Switching off the beam, he fell to his haunches and, grasping his knife, hid beside the front wheel arch, but no one came to investigate the noise. Remaining by the wheel, Clement waited a full five minutes before returning to the rear of the vehicle. He climbed in, pulled the doors closed behind him and flicked on the torch again.

  The space astounded him. It was easily big enough for large weapons. He moved the torch beam over the lorry walls and floor. Three full coal sacks were leaning against the front wall of the vehicle. Climbing in, he walked towards the sacks, and lifting each in turn looked behind them. Something about one of the sacks caught his eye. It had a long curved edge bulging through the hessian. His eyes shifted to the other bags. These contained only the distinctive small spherical lumps of coal. Holding the torch in his mouth, he opened the odd sack and felt for the unusual shape. It was metallic and round, about eight inches in diameter. Withdrawing it, he stared at the drum. Although now empty, the metal container had once held approximately seventy rounds of ammunition. Brushing the coal dust from the surface with his fist, he read the words stamped into the top. Maschinengewehr Modell 34.

  He felt disgust for the man, but not just for his treachery. McAllister was a ruthless killer. In Clement’s mind the man had become his personal adversary and had taken on a satanic visage while still unidentified. But the face of Ian McAllister belied the man’s brutality. The image of him sitting on Aidan’s velvet upholstered chair drinking whisky flashed in Clement’s memory and he chastised himself for such naivety. The professional always looked innocent. And who would suspect the person who came seeking assistance? Turning the drum over in his hand, Clement wondered whether to take it with him as confirmation of McAllister’s guilt. But that was no longer necessary. He pushed it back into the sack and retied the bag. Johnny had instructed him to bring the traitor in, if possible, and for that Clement didn’t need the physical evidence beyond this moment. He replaced the sacks as he had found them, his hand reaching for his pistol, his mind on confronting McAllister and his wife. Better now, he thought, in their home, without others around. And it would be quiet with Crawford’s shop and residence unoccupied next door.

  He drew in a long breath. If the McAllisters surrendered quietly, he could take them next door and telephone Inspector Stratton, but he knew that would never happen. McAllister was a ruthless killer and brutal to the point of evil. There was no honour in such a man. Surrender would never be considered. Clement reached into his coat for the silencer and screwed it into position.

  But what part did Sarah and Tom play? Was it McAllister they were waiting for in the kirk? Clement’s instinct told him it was. And if so, Sarah and Tom would hang as accomplices to murder as well as treason. He needed to know exactly who the pair was meeting before confronting McAllister.

  Placing the pistol into his belt, he rubbed the coal dust from his hands against his coat and checked his watch. He had been in the garage about twenty minutes. Switching off the torch, he jumped from the rear of the lorry and pushed the doors to, leaning on the handle and twisting the latch closed. As he crept past the door to the house, he listened but he couldn’t hear anything. Stepping outside he relocked the doors and hurried away.

  As Clement walked west towards the kirk and his rendezvous with Sean, his mind played with timings. Everything pointed to McAllister’s guilt and his cover was perfect. No matter which way Clement thought about it, McAllister was in the vicinity for all four murders. Was the face of evil to be found in a strong, seemingly dependable neighbour? A woman and a man with a dog? Why had McAllister let him live after their encounter in the Frews’ house? It made no sense to Clement then and it still didn’t. He had also slept on Tom’s boat. Three times Clement could so easily have been murdered. So why had McAllister not taken advantage of the opportunities? The man would have known that Clement intended to sail for St Margaret’s Hope with Tom Harris in the early hours of Thursday morning because Tom would have informed him. What neither Tom nor McAllister knew was that, at the time, Clement had booked passage for Sarah, not himself. Regardless, he and Sarah were both there. Was that why he had not been killed when so many bullets had been fired? Had Sarah’s presence with him on the jetty and with Tom on the boat guaranteed his safety? And with him on South Ronaldsay, Clement would be unable to return, as no fisherman would bring him back. So why had Tom? Surely, if his theory was correct, Tom would be the last fisherman to make the crossing. Perhaps Tom had agreed only because Clement had asked to go to Thurso, not Gills Bay? A gnawing doubt lingered in his gut. While the ammunition drum was damning evidence of McAllister’s guilt, it wasn’t conclusive.

  Staying on the road, Clement hurried past the high graveyard wall, arriving at the kirk on the stroke of seven o’clock. He hadn’t passed anyone, but it didn’t stop his eyes and ears straining for the sounds of the ever-present risk of running into company. Pausing at the kirk door for only a few seconds to listen, he went straight to the belfry.

  ‘Sean?’

  ‘Aye.’ Sean stepped from behind the door.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘A car.’

  Clement waited.

  ‘I heard it approaching and saw the shielded head lights turn off the main road. The engine was switched off a few minutes later.’

  ‘Which direction?’

  ‘Coming from the west.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘About twenty minutes ago.’

  Clement walked to the window and stared over the fields, but all was dark now.

  ‘I lost sight of it after it turned off the main road. I could have a look about, if you like.’

  Clement looked at Sean. ‘We go together. But you should be armed with something,’ Clement reached down to his left calf and unsheathed his knife from its scabbard.

  Sean beamed a wry grin. ‘Like no Holy Father I’ve ever known. I hope it’s a new trend. I think I like it.’

  Clement smiled, but Sean’s remark had stung. At one time, Clement would have spent time philosophizing about his actions and his compromised values. He mourned the loss of such times. Now, there was only time for survival.

  Clement handed the blade to Sean. At least, Clement thought to himself, this way he would be sure about Sean’s loyalties.

  Pushing back his coat, Clement took the Welrod pistol from his belt. He saw Sean’s eyebrows rise but the Irishman passed no comment about the weapon.

  ‘I could go alone, Vicar?’

  ‘No. I don’t want any more deaths because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  Descending from the belfry, they left the kirk and crossed the road, jumping the stone wall into the meadow. Clement was beginning to know the snow-covered fields opposite the kirk well, even in darkness. Remaining by the h
edges, they ran towards Canisbay and the rear door of The Bell. A strong smell of coal smoke was coming from the inn. It was like a homing beacon in the night. Within minutes they were in the rear yard, crouching behind some empty barrels. In the gloom the kitchen door opened. Framed in the doorway, and lit from behind, Clement could see the red hair of Stewart McCrea. The lad walked out into the yard carrying an empty beer barrel on his shoulders. Within seconds McCrea had disappeared into the darkness, but they heard the barrel being stacked with the others in the side passageway. A minute later Stewart returned to the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Not too strict about observing the black-out regulations, are they?’ But Clement’s question was rhetorical. He reached for his lock-picks. ‘Watch my back, Sean.’

  ‘Aye.’

  Hurrying across the yard, Clement approached the rear door and inserted the lock-picks, rotating them, the barrel slipping back easily.

  Sean was beside him in seconds. ‘Not going in?’

  ‘Not yet. Stay here, Sean. Watch, but don’t go in.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I want to see if the car is parked at the front.’

  Sean nodded.

  Clement ran down the side path. Pressing himself against the wall at the corner of the building, he peered around the edge. A vehicle was parked at the front. Without waiting, he returned to the rear of the inn.

  ‘Is it there?’

  Clement nodded. ‘It’s Stratton’s.’

  Chapter 20

  ‘Why is Stratton here again, do you think, Vicar?’

  ‘Good question.’

  ‘What do you intend to do?’

  ‘Ask Jean. But you stay here, out of sight.’

  Clement stood and, reaching for the door knob, opened the door a crack and looked in. The black-out curtain was pushed back and although the light in the kitchen was on, no one was there. Warmth radiated from the kitchen stove. He slipped inside and went straight to the pantry where he could wait without being seen. A minute later the swing door from the bar to the kitchen opened and Jean walked in.